dijous, 31 de juliol de 2014

Una de les coses que més m'agrada de la Festa del Reneixement, a banda dels 72 hores de desconectar totalment del segle 21 i la feina, i gaudir amb familia saludant la gent que no has vist en tot un any, i bevent cervesa i menjant pel carrer etc, és la possibilitat de veure grans musics pel carrer. Aquest any hem descobert aquest grup.
...The Renaissance Festival in Tortosa is a great time - 72 hours disconnected from work and worries, just enjoying a grand time with family meeting all your friends out and about, eating and drinking, checking out all the activities - and for some, the "enjoyment" of staring at a telephone screen meanwhil to be able to inform other people what they are doing - but above all, for me, I love all the live music. This year we discovered this great group from Hungary. The videos are not from the Tortosa festival as I was too busy having a good time to get all my electronic devices out (as the actress said to the bishop)...

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but that's only true if you're a good photographer with a good camera, and not taking photos of moving people in the middle of the night... so, to try and give some kind of idea of how amazing the Tortosa Renaissance Festival (click) is, I'll throw in a few words before the dodgy photos.

Four days of non-stop activities, re-living the 16th century splendour of Tortosa. Mornings are more for browsing the oldie-worldie street markets and checking out some amazing buildings, old universities, convents, palaces and the like, while listening to street musicians or joining in with activities for the kids or investigating interesting exhibitions of 16th C documents and objects. Middays, with the sun high and 30º in the shade, are for resting. On an evening, time to dress up in home-made Renaissance-style clothing and hit the streets of the old part of town. About 20 groups of street theatre, acrobats, musicians, are found in every public square all night, or parading the streets. Thousands throng the streets, enjoying the vibes, checking out great food, drinking beer, dancing, singing, or going to more formal open-air theatre shows until the early hours ... 2am, 3am, you name it! Just like the old days!

Wait – what’s a Catalanist? Well,
given the nasty connotations the word “nationalist” has had over the years, a
long long time ago Albert Einstein, upon offering his support for the Catalan cause, suggested that those in favour of independence should call themselves
Catalanists rather than Catalan nationalists.

So, where to start? While at
university I came on holiday here one summer in 1987 without ever realizing it
was Catalonia. Salou, a kind of sunny Blackpool where everyone speaks English
and drinks a lot. I loved it.

Back at university, in my last year
(87-88) I realized I didn’t want to move into a degree-related job straight
away, and I needed to do a gap year. I checked out all the options of going to
faraway struggling nations in Africa and central America but eventually
chickened out and decided to go for a nice safe European country. Hey, if Spain
is all like Salou, it must be great – thought I. So I did my TOEFL (Teaching
English as a Foreign language) course, went a few lunchtimes to the language
lab at university in an attempt to learn some Spanish (didn’t), and/or meet
some girls (didn’t), and in September 1988 I was offered a job in Tortosa
(southern Catalonia) teaching English, a mere 60 miles from Salou. Party-time I
thought!

I arrived here with a suitcase,
Spanish dictionary, tennis racket and phone number of my new boss. I still
didn’t know this was Catalonia. The only reference I had to Catalonia was
having read Orwell’s Homage To Catalonia at university but I still hadn’t put
two and two together. Yeah, Barcelona features heavily in the book (big clue),
but I concentrated more on the political lessons to be learned – that is, I
developed a healthy cynicism of left-wing politics. My healthy cynicism of
right-wing politics had already come with my birth certificate, being born in
South Yorkshire.

So, is Tortosa like Salou/Blackpool?
No, it’s more like a kind of run-down York but without the tourists. That is, a
historic city full of old buildings and a rich history, and people living a
“normal” small-town life, not drinking gallons of sangria or wearing Mexican
sombreros down the disco. Anyway, I like(d) it.

On my first day at work, September
1988, the school provided us with a Spanish teacher for free, and I started
having 3 classes a week and got to a decent level within my first year. This
teacher, and my students, were the ones who let me into the secret – hey,
you’re in Catalonia and although you’re studying Spanish, the people speak
Catalan first and foremost. But the Spanish teacher managed to convince us to
stick with learning Spanish as that way you can “travel anywhere in the rest of
Spain, or South America.” Big mistake. I didn’t want to go anywhere else. It’s
a bit like going to live in Germany and they tell you to learn English so you
can go somewhere else! Everyone around me, students, staff at the school, shop
workers, bar owners, all spoke Catalan all the time, only changing into Spanish
to speak to me – thus making me feel the odd one out, which I was! To tell the
truth the mistake was also amplified by my stubbornness- as the year went by and people started to
suggest learning Catalan, I stuck it out with Spanish. The more they insisted,
the more I did – especially as I’m not known as a great language learner. One
extra language would have to be enough. I could see Catalan would help me, but
I wasn’t going to give in that easily. Anyway, the rest of the year went by in
a blur of good times, bars, tapas, drinking, beaches, student parties ... so I
decided to stay a second year.

In year 2 (1989-90) I made big
friends with one of my classes full of unemployed students who were coming every
day, all morning, for a free course. We had loads of time for chatting and I
was starting to get interested in local events and to find out just where I was.
I made big friends with a young guy my age who turned out to be a firm believer
in Catalan independence and an expert on history. Having said that, even he was
willing to switch to Spanish to talk to me so I still saw no rush to get into
Catalan. Hey, I was only staying two years. Many weekends were spent meeting
this guy and his friends, seeing local historically relevant spots (especially
from the Civil War), going to watch Barça football club, and we even visited
the Basque country and some very (to put it mildly) suspicious-looking bars and
meeting places. I was swiftly swung over to the cause and could see that if my
friend’s version of history, and the present, was true, then I too believed
they should become independent. The following 25 years have only reaffirmed
this.

Almost everybody I met in those two
first years believed the same, that Catalonia was a different country and that
it should become independent. For most, though, it was a kind of dream with no
expectation of it ever coming true and, so, they were making no effort to make
it come true. The committed campaigners, like my friend, were few – but,
looking back, it’s clear that it would take very little for the other,
traditionally cautious, Catalans to decide to go for it. Language-wise I stuck
with Spanish, thinking, through my stubbornness and laziness, that if Catalans
are bilingual surely they can speak Spanish to me and amongst themselves. Big
mistake too. I now believe nobody is actually bilingual, in the pure sense.
However well you speak different languages, there’s always going to be one that
you feel is “your language”, and this is going to be the one you want to speak
of course.

During year two, I met a girl. This
led to my decision to stay a third year. And a fourth. During year four, the
only flats I could find to rent were dingy and in dodgy areas, so my
girlfriend’s parents suggested I move into a spare room they had. Probably so
as to keep their eye on me, but also as they were accustomed to a house full of
lodgers as many cousins and nephews spent long periods of time with them, in
Tortosa, the “capital city”, when they came up to Big School from their smaller
villages. So I was now living and eating with a Catalan family. They would
speak Spanish to me, but obviously Catalan amongst themselves. I could see I
should be speaking Catalan or I would always be the mad foreigner in Tortosa. Also
the odd snippets of the language I was managing to throw out (Good morning;
I’ll have a beer etc) were getting great feedback as people love to see you
trying to integrate.

In 92 or 93, I think, I managed to find a
dingy flat in a reasonable area of town, so I moved out of the family’s home. A
year later my girlfriend moved in with me – thus causing a certain degree of
“coldness” in the relationship with her parents! I got a long-term permanent
contract teaching English and she also got a job (she’d been studying on and
off the first couple of years we were together) and I realized that Tortosa was
to be my home for the foreseeable future. So, I set about learning Catalan
seriously. Books, classes, work work work, and by about 1995 I’d reached and
passed what they call “level C” (equivalent to level B2 in the EU level
system), and could now speak Catalan fluently – and better than Spanish. Old
students I’d known since 1988 still spoke to me in Spanish (some still do! Old
habits die hard...), but I was now speaking Catalan all the time (outside of class of
course). Virtually everybody in Tortosa speaks Catalan as their first language,
and I only speak Spanish now on the odd occasion though I do watch Spanish
films, TV, read the press, books etc.

The 90s went by in a blur – girlfriend,
friends, good time, little money, no TV – and as such, I didn’t really follow
local or national politics but thanks to my girlfriend’s (or wife after 1996)
family, friends, and students, I never doubted that the Catalans would
one day go for independence.

Historically, they seemed to be
right. They have had a glorious history, and have been crushed down time and
time again by the Spanish establishment only to rise again. Not rise in a
nationalistic nasty way, but as a people with a different culture, a different
language, a different mind-set and approach to life and work. It’s too long to
go into here but socially and culturally the dividing line between Europe and
Spain should not be the Pyrenees but rather the southern border of Catalonia.
The more I lived here, the more I have come to realize there is a huge
difference in many factors. So what, I hear you say? Can’t different people
live together in peace and harmony? Yes, but only through mutual respect. In
fact, Catalans have tried to get on with Spain for ages, only to find the
Spanish establishment trying to do away with these differences time and time
again, sometimes subtly, sometimes more blatantly, and even violently.

As our life stabilized and we got a
house and a telly, and eventually kids, I became more interested in current
affairs once more. Around the year 2000 we got heavily involved in a campaign
group to protect the river Ebro and its natural Delta against some crazy plans
designed by Mr Aznar’s right-wing Spanish government. Getting back into
politics through this campaign, it seemed clear that Catalonia would only have
a future as a “different entity” and its language would only survive, if they
went for independence. But still, it was something talked a lot about but very little
mainstream action was happening. My friend and his buddies were still
publishing leaflets, selling flags, and going on demos but it wasn’t a
mainstream movement yet.

But, through our time in the Ebro
campaign group and my wife’s collaborations with groups promoting the Catalan
language (even though every local person speaks it, there has been a huge
influx of new-comers who need to be offered the chance to learn Catalan too),
and social activities at the local library we were meeting more people, with
more reasons, who believed Catalonia needed to move on.

So, the new (2004) socialist
government in Madrid offered Catalans the chance to re-write their “statute” (a
kind of constitution for the autonomous nations/regions in Spain). Catalans
jumped at this and drew up a document which vastly improved their relationship
with Spain. But, it was all too good to be true. The socialists themselves watered it
down, and then the conservative party took the “statute” to court and managed
to get all the new, improved, important parts eliminated. Big mistake. In
response, over one million people demonstrated in Barcelona. And the cry we
heard on the streets that day wasn’t “we want this improved relationship”, but
rather “Independence” directly. Refusing their chance to offer Catalans a new
deal, the Spanish political establishment had set a snowball rolling which they
have no chance of stopping...

Ever since then, all those
Catalanists in the closets have come out, and come out in numbers! There have
been annual demonstrations, increasing in number, and increasing in the
clearness of their demands. As you may know from previous posts, over 80% of
Catalans believe they should hold an independence vote, and around 50-60% would
go for independence.

Now, this is all out in the open,
there are loads of books, articles, websites, debates explaining the reasons
and advantages (and disadvantages) of independence, so, unsurprisingly, I am
now more of a Catalanist than ever!

[re-reading this I can see that specific reasons for becoming a Catalanist as promised, are few and far between, but I have done the "objective" side before - here I just wanted to ramble and let my hair down...]

Well, the 9 November referendum is still on the cards according to the Catalan govt and about 80% of the populace. Mr Rajoy and the main two political parties in Spain insist it isn't.

Catalonia is in the process of passing a Catalan law which will provide a framework for the referendum to be legal. Spain insists it's illegal according to their constitution.

Catalonia is already manufacturing the ballot boxes (out of eco-friendly card). Spanish "experts" say the police would be sent out to remove them. The Catalans have their own police force, though. What would happen?

Maybe Catalonia will do a clever swap, changing the (illegal?) referendum for a (legal) snap election with a coalition of parties proposing a Unilateral Declaration of Independence? External big-wigs like the EU and the US government don't like this route apparently - they want a negotiated settlement.

Meanwhile, the civil society pro-indy organizations are setting up another "over-one-million-people" activity in Barcelona on 11 September.

Missed the 5th anniversary of this blog while I was busy making other plans. 5 years old on 23rd April! In these 5 years and 3 months it turns out I've written 848 posts and posted about 848 songs, and received almost 60,000 visits.

Things have changed over these years. The first year I almost achieved my "post a day" aim and in years 2 and 3 I managed about 3 or 4 per week. Since then things have slowed down dramatically, or even ground to a halt for most of 2014!

At first I only wrote in Catalan, imagining my audience would be basically people I know, but about 3 years ago I started writing in English and Catalan so as to please my international visitors. Visits and comments reached a high point around year 2 to 3, but have since fallen. One reason is obvious; if your blog is half-dead (case in point) people don't keep coming back. But I also believe the boom in smartphones (and social networks and the dreaded whassup thing) has led to a change in habits. The easier it is to surf, from anywhere, any time, the more we surf and the more we waffle and the less time we have to take anything seriously. Many people just skim straight through stuff all day without the time or patience to read it carefully or leave any kind of comment. (I'm not complaining for my blog as my aim isn't to be "famous", just I think this is a rather common problem looking at many sites I visit). I'm also guilty. I used to comment all the time on a local newsite, but no longer find the time for it. Back to my blog, I do have a couple of loyal commenting visitors - owe you a beer guys! - and also a few local friends still read me but no longer write anything (they just tell me in person "Oh, nice post").

Given my struggles to keep blogging - this year's excuses include recovering, physically and mentally, from a health problem, work overloads, family and friends, other ways to "waste" my time on the net etc - I have thought, for the umpteenth time, about giving it up. But, as usual, I've decided to carry on. There's life in this dodo yet...

Last but not least in this trilogy of amazing reflections. When I was a lad, and it was time to leave the beach, we'd always have one last dip so as to leave the beach nice and cool - and then sit on a towel in the car. But, when I started going to the beach in Catalonia with my wife she told me that things were done differently. You have your last dip ages before you leave the beach, thus allowing you to dry off perfectly in the sun and brush all the dry sand off. And get in the car nice and clean. I've always moaned about this as it means leaving the beach all hot and bothered!

However, t'other week I met someone from here who said they do it like I'd do it.

To sum up; each to his own. And faced with the choice of my comfort and a sandy car, or my discomfort and a spotless car, I know what I'd go for. That's why they invented hoovers.

dimecres, 16 de juliol de 2014

Tornem al blog despres d'un merescut descans, per parlar d'un tema importantissim.A Anglaterra - o almenys al meu poble, als People's Republic of South Yorkshire - sucar galetes o donuts al cafe, te, o xocolata de beure està molt mal vist. Se considera de una falta d'educació brutal. No obstant, sí que suquem, i molt, pa a la sopa.A Catalunya, o almenys aquí al mig dels països catalans a Tortosa, és al reves. Suquem al cafe i xocolata amb molt de gust - i en public. Però no posen mai res dins la sopa. Curios.
.....
Interrupting this enforced respite from blogging to deal with the important matter of dunking. In England, or at least in Barnsley, dunking biscuits or other sweet products - buns, doughnuts... - in your drink is considered bad manners and you can only really do it up to the age of about 4. But we do dunk bread, and loads of it, buttered even, in our soup. The Catalans go about things in a different way. They love dunking in their hot beverages - even in public, but never put any bread-like substance in their soup.
Interesting.
(PS searching for a dunking photo on Google, it turns out it means something else to Americans - lots of photos of tall guys in vests jumping up and down with a ball in their hands)
(PPS can't think of a dunking song, so ... looks at what CDs he's got strewn across the desk... we'll put this one on....